Old Moon
by Loryn Wilde
Summary: S. Black has returned from beyond the veil. R. Lupin cannot lose him again. Slash.


Part One.

Remus crushed Sirius to him; forgetting, for the moment, Tonks and Arthur Weasley and Dumbledore and even Snape – all standing in a half circle around the veil. His world narrowed to the listless body in his arms. He felt abruptly weak; the weight of Sirius' form was suddenly too much to bear along with the shock of having him returned. Having him back. Burying his fingers in the tangled black hair, he slowly sank to his knees on the floor.

A hand touched his shoulder.

"Remus – let me see." It took a moment for Dumbledore's words to penetrate the screaming fog wrapping Remus' brain. He pulled back just far enough to see Sirius' face, pinched and haggard with exhaustion. But alive.

Remus swallowed past the thick lump in his throat, nodded his head. "Of course. Yes" Nevertheless he stayed near, cupping Sirius' sunken cheek, brushing his thumb over the papery skin again and again. Sirius said nothing, his head lolling unsteadily on thin, cringing shoulders.

Tonks and Snape joined them and soon Remus had no choice but to step back, staring wide eyed at his old friend. Testament to Sirius' weakness was his total quiescence under even Snape's exploring hands. That made Remus' heart skip more than anything. It occurred to him that Sirius might not even make it. They didn't know the first thing about the veil: what lay beyond it; what its powers were.

"No—" The moan came unbidden. He couldn't lose Sirius again. James, Lily, and Peter to Voldemort; Sirius to Azkaban, again to the veil, and now to get him back only to lose him one last time. It wasn't fair. It was cruel. It was far more than any one person deserved to bear.

"Remus." It was Arthur this time, a comforting hand on his shoulder. Remus registered his concerned expression through increasingly blurred vision. "Remus, he'll be all right. Help me get the wards up again. We need to leave this place in the same condition we found it."

Right. Arthur was right, of course. Remus checked back on Sirius, assuring himself that for now, he was alive, and that meant a measure of hope was, too. They'd done what they came to do, and now there was work to be done. Besides, Tonks, Dumbledore, and Severus were more than capable of handling Sirius for now. Swiping a hand across his tearing eyes, he followed Arthur Weasley out of the room.

---

Remus had always felt distinctly uncomfortable at Number 12, Grimmauld Place, no matter how thoroughly he and the others had scoured it for remaining hexes. And really, it had very little to do with magic, anyway. The place was just so enormous and cold, sudden drafts sending shivers up his spine and odd noises that made the fine hairs up his arms and the back of his neck stand on end. One could argue that Hogwarts suffered the same – it certainly was huge and drafty and cool – and he'd spent countless nights and days there with no trouble at all. So maybe that wasn't it. Maybe some vestige of the reproving Blacks remained, staunchly hostile to any intruders or maybe just people like him.

Alone in the kitchen he prepared a pot of tea, methodically placing cups of sugar, cream, a small bowl of honey, and two spoons neatly onto an ivory tray. He carried it out using both hands, moving quietly through the long darkened corridors and up two flights of stairs. Sirius Black's innumerable ancestors tracked him silently with their eyes, staring from elaborately framed portraits lining the walls. Faint whispers followed him but he didn't turn back.

"Animal," they said. "Filth."

The bedroom door stood ajar and he went in sideways, carefully nudging it open with his elbow. Dumbledore stood over an enormous bed, of which its single occupant lay unmoving at the center. Remus spared the still figure a brief glance before setting the tray down on the night table. "Tea, Albus?" he murmured, pouring the ancient wizard a cup.

"Thank you, yes."

"Sugar? Cream?" A low moan from the bed startled him, and the teapot clattered noisily against the cup and saucer, belaying his nerves. He steadied his grip and stared at the man lying in bed, motionless as ever.

"I expect he'll come to soon enough," Dumbledore observed mildly. Carefully he extricated the teacup from Remus' tight grasp. "It smells wonderful, Remus. Thank you." He smiled kindly, eyeing him over the rims of his half moon spectacles.

"Will he be all right?" Remus had agonized over this question ever since Sirius came plunging out from the veil. They would tell him if they knew, he told himself, firmly, again. He and Sirius, they were – they were each others' oldest friend; and even though they had always kept things quiet, he was positive Dumbledore knew about them.

"As far as we can tell," Dumbledore replied, "We won't know anything until he wakes."

Remus nodded, swallowing past the thick lump in his throat. "Of course."

A quiet moment passed before either of them spoke again.

"I'm quiet certain he'll be fine, Remus," Dumbledore offered, and he sounded genuinely convinced of it. He slurped back the last of his tea and set the cup back down on the tray. "I'm needed at the ministry. Severus has returned to Hogwarts but the Weasleys and Tonks are about. I'm sure they can help you with anything at all but don't hesitate to contact me if you feel it's necessary.

Again, Remus nodded, feeling oddly numb and choked up for some reason.

"Good luck. He'll be all right, you'll see." And with a sudden crack he apparated.

A heavy silence filled the room, interrupted only by Sirius Black's even, slumbering breaths. Remus was suddenly sure any tea he drank would come right back up so he muttered a simple charm to keep it warm and took a seat at the end of the bed. Some color had returned to Sirius' face; he was no longer the ghostly shell lying unconscious in Remus' arms, but still he was pale. The flesh around his eyes was bruised and tender looking and his lips were chapped, whitened. The only coloring was in a small rash at the corner of his mouth.

Remus' hand moved to cup one thin cheek. He frowned at its coolness and tugged the blankets up around Sirius' chin. He couldn't do much but he could keep the poor man warm, at least. Thoughts of Harry came to him unbidden, as they had off and on since they'd retrieved the boy's godfather. Dumbledore strongly advised they all keep quiet about it for now. Remus hadn't asked why, too exhausted by all this business anyway, too drained with worry. It wasn't hard, though, to think of a few good reasons why.

It would be far too easy for the enemy to discover Sirius was back if word got out – assuming, of course, that they didn't already know. This could provide the Order with some tactical advantage later on, if Sirius were able to resume his former duties as spy.

Too much was at stake to let Harry become distracted from his studies. If Remus knew the boy at all – and he felt that he did – there was a great chance he'd drop everything and head straight for Grimmauld Place. That was far too dangerous. Hogwarts really was safest with the Wizarding world in its current state.

And despite Dumbledore's optimism, they all really did have no idea what they were dealing with. If Sirius woke – if he didn't just die or remain comatose – who knew what he'd be like? He could be damaged in ways they couldn't possibly predict. He could be irrevocably changed. Remus didn't know what he'd do if that were the case. Maybe it would have been better if Sirius had just died that day, under Bellatrix's curse.

If that were the case, Remus thought, with a sort of conviction he hadn't felt since he was young, he'd leave the Order. He'd take Sirius with him and they could live somewhere Voldemort would never go. He'd give Sirius what he could, a mere fraction of what they all really owed him, and care for him until he couldn't do it anymore. Until he died.

"I will," he said, meaning it, gazing down at the still figure in bed.

The figure stirred and a faint smiled quirked the corners of thin lips.


End file.
